Wretched
by Mistress Arsonist
Summary: Chris did not escape back to the past in Chris-Crossed. He was captured, imprisoned and tortured by his brother. This story takes place after five months spent suffering at Wyatt's hand.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Charmed or any of it's characters, settings, or anything else. I'm just borrowing them for a bit. I also make no money out of this.

_Pairings:_ Chris/Bianca

_A/N 1:_It's been a long time since I've written anything, this is more to try and get myself back into it than anything else. If anyone is concerned about anything I've written and not updated in years, I cannot say here whether I will or won't continue with them. I'm sorry, but I just don't know at the moment.

_A/N 2:_ The prompt for this first scene was 'Water'. The rest is probably going to be an exploration to see how far I can go, what kind of a story I can build with this as a foundation.

_Summary:_ Chris was captured when he was brought back to the future in Chris-Crossed. He was then imprisoned by his brother. This story takes place approximately five months after the events of Chris-Crossed. Also, I thought it would be more interesting to write them if Chris and Bianca had been married, rather than just engaged, so I took some artistic licence there.

_Rating:_ M (For violence and gore.)

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><p><strong>Wretched<strong>

_Chapter One_

It struck Chris as somewhat ironic that normally he'd have gone for days thinking about how incredible so much as a few drops of cool, clean water would be to have access to, but now that he was almost drowning in the stuff he'd rather like to be somewhere else. He would have laughed at that realisation had he the breath. Or the energy.

Again, the demon that Chris had decided he wanted to kill as painfully as possible, none too gently grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head up, allowing Chris to choke and gasp at the now readily available air once again.

"Where are they hiding?" The demon growled, the stench on his breath almost making Chris wish for the water again. The most degrading part of the whole experience, however, was not the restraints keeping his limbs in place, nor the fact that he'd not seen an ounce of soap in weeks, but the fact that the thing that put him in this state was a lower level demon. A species to which Wyatt had given the responsibilities of a foot soldier at the most. Normally this thing, Trog its name was, would spend its time out in the city hunting for stray humans; witch and mortal alike, and bringing them in for enslavement, or if their level of power was high enough, re-indoctrination. Or worse. If Chris were at full strength he could snap this thing's spine like a twig. As it was however, his powers were gone and he had been rendered immobile. Trog hadn't, of course, been given this job for the skill it involved. Wyatt was sending his brother a message. _This is what you are to me. This is how far you've fallen. _

To distract him from the subtleties of his brothers communication techniques Chris had more than a few broken bones. His feet had been shackled to the floor. His hands had been tightly bound with magically enforced rope behind his back. As good as Chris was with knots he couldn't so much as wriggle the rope around a bit to alter the restriction of blood flow to his hands. He had been his brother's prisoner for five months now.

Thinking back what had to be roughly a year now, Chris inwardly cringed. He had gone back in time, to over a year before his birth in the hope of saving the world. He did fairly well, all things considered. He'd destroyed the demons that would have become Wyatt's inner circle as soon as he'd arrived, occasionally with the help of the Power of Three. He'd killed many other demons and either hid or destroyed many of the weapons and various magical artefacts that Wyatt had used the first time round to build his regime and secure power. Right now, his brother's operation was smaller and slightly weaker than he remembered it, but only slightly.

Chris hadn't actually managed to stop anything though, just slow his brother's progress. Now, Wyatt's inner circle consisted of demons that Chris did not know, creatures he couldn't predict. There were battles he had prevented from being fought, but there were other battles he had no knowledge of. Here, he was far less informed. And for all he knew the Resistance could be out to get him as well.

There had also been Bianca. Last of the Phoenix line and best of Wyatt's personal guard. Also a spy for the Resistance and Chris's wife of two years. Thankfully that was unchanged. Five months ago, however, she had been sent back into the past to strip his powers and retrieve Chris. Taking him to this altered but ultimately not fixed future. Where somehow, Wyatt still knew both timelines, had a different set or memories from each. Chris couldn't work out why, but then he hadn't let himself spend too much time thinking about it.

When they returned it became apparent that her cover was blown. They tried to fight Wyatt then, even with Chris's powers stripped. He'd managed to get them back, a spell left there by his charges 23 years previously made it happen. However, in helping him Bianca had lost her life and Wyatt, even weakened, was still more than capable of overpowering his now grieving brother.

One moment Chris was kneeling next to his dying lover, trying desperately to think of a way to save her, the next thing her knew he was laying on the stone floor of a cell, once again powerless.

Five long months then passed, each day working to enforce the opinion Chris now had; he was never getting out of there alive.

He had failed in his mission. He had caused, however inadvertently, the death of the only love he had left. Regardless of why he was being tortured, or who was doing it; he knew he deserved every last second of it.

His attention returning vaguely to the guard he said nothing. Not just out of loyalty to them, the Resistance, but in truth, what did he know about them now? Wyatt knew this, of course, but that was beside the point. Chris didn't even bother bracing himself for the next rush of water, the lack of air. If Wyatt wanted him dead, he would be. And if the guard were to keep his head under the surface for just a few seconds too long he honestly wouldn't have minded that either.

Briefly he wondered, not for the first time, whether he'd see Bianca there, as he strongly considered just opening his mouth and let his lungs do as they wished. Just a few more seconds of pain and he would be free.

'_Stupid!'_ He berated himself. He'd personally revived enough drown victims to know just how easily they could bring him back, without even using magic. Then they'd take extra care. They'd be mindful not to push his body too far next time. They'd be far more mindful of what he may do to himself under their noses. _However_, this guard was nearing the end of his shift. As a rule this species had little in the way of intellect. And this particular one had a habit of keeping Chris's head under the water for longer than he would actually need. If he went about this properly...

Then, just as the idea began to mutate into a plan of action he was pulled up and back to fall into a mess of pained limbs on the floor. The guard was finishing early. He'd left it too long.

He lay back as best he could and closed his eyes as the water was thrown away, preparing himself as the guard approached.

"You think you can keep this up forever?" The demon growled before proceeding to kick him several times in the abdomen. "You'll break, witch. You'll break and you'll bleed and then you'll do it all over again." As if you punctuate his point, Trog proceeded to kick Chris once more in the face; snapping the witch's head back with so much force Chris was certain his neck almost snapped.

He didn't bother hiding the hurt anymore. What did he have to fight for?

Gasping and groaning as the guard left his cell he silently hoped for the same method tomorrow. And then, with thoughts of her smile, he rolled onto his side and drifted into blissful oblivion.

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><p>So, what did you think? I might well be able to continue with this one for a bit. I certainly have more than a few ideas anyway. Please be kind enough to let me know. After all, reviews are like cookies.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Charmed.

**AN:** So, this is the next chapter. I'm happy with how it turned out, but the important question is what you guys think. I hope it's not too upsetting, it does get a bit dark. Couldn't help it, I just had to go there. I'll shut up now.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

When he next awoke he was in the same position as when he passed out, but was now no longer alone. The dark of the room and the remaining sleep in his eyes made it hard to tell, but he didn't need decent light or vision to recognise his own brother standing before him.

Though he couldn't imagine what his brother wanted with him now, he knew he needn't waste his energy trying to work it out. He'd surely find out soon enough, and when he did he'd need whatever strength he could find.

"Why didn't you tell me, Chris?" He said a mocking condescension in his voice.

Chris didn't dare answer.

"You got married?" Wyatt continued, "If I had known I would have gotten you a present." He began to pace.

What little blood Chris had left in his face drained away and his stomach completely dropped out from under him. A fear he had forgotten he could feel suddenly gripped him. A panic he couldn't control began to build.

"You see after you moved in I was sorting through your things and I found," Wyatt paused to take something from his pocket. Small. Metal. "This."

It was the rings Chris and his wife had placed on each other's fingers at their wedding. Chris had no idea how Wyatt had gotten them, but he knew the consequences for Bianca must have been worse than he'd imagined while he'd been gone.

A disgusted fury overtook his fear.

In his first weeks he had wondered what had happened to them, had hoped that his best (and most likely true) guess was not in fact correct. That there was some gaping hole in his logic. But no. After she had fallen broken and bleeding, Wyatt had attacked. Everything went black. The next thing he knew he found himself in this very cell. Alone. And his first realisation was that she was dead. He had an almost burning desperation to find out what had been done with her body, but knew that in all likelihood he never would.

Returning his focus to the here and now Chris somehow regained a semblance of self control. He needed to get his head in the game.

"Really Chris, why didn't you just tell me? I wouldn't have done it had I known she was family." Wyatt continued, seeming to revel in a genuine happiness.

'_What have you done?'_ Chris thought over and over again; mind on overdrive going through scenario after scenario all the while knowing that his best guess wouldn't even be close.

And it wasn't.

Wyatt stepped further into the room, away from the door. "I figure it's only right that I fix what I did. That'd make mom proud, right? That is the kind of thing she would have liked to see, right Chris?" Wyatt laughed as he walked to the opposite side of the room, leaving Chris to openly seethe at his last words, as he opened the door. With a wave of his hand Wyatt illuminated the room.

Something with the shape of a woman walked, or rather seemed to try to walk, into the room. It wore ragged bits of cloth that could no longer be called clothes. In the fresh light Chris's eyes needed to adjust before he could see clearly.

He didn't need to know who this was, or rather who this was supposed to be. He'd had six whole years in which he had learned every line, every curve, and every muscle. Everything there was to know about that body he knew better than anyone else.

"No." Chris whimpered. The first thing he'd said in he didn't know how long. His vocal chords burned at him in protest but his whimper turned into a desperate scream nonetheless. "No!" Tears streaming down his face; he tried to move to her forgetting about his restraints but was held fast as he screamed. The best he could do was shuffle himself into a sitting position but the shakes sent rippling through his body by his own weeping forced him into a ball on the floor.

Wyatt, smirking from behind his brother said, "I'll leave you two lovebirds to it then." He dark-orbed out as the door closed and locked as he left.

Chris didn't notice any of this. His entire focus was on his wife. She wasn't dead, but she was hardly living either. Chris knew what had been done to her. The longer he stared the more he could see of it.

Her eyes were the first sign; dilated, dazed and unfocused. The skin was next; pale in some places, rashes showing up violently red in others. It was also loose on her body; hardly clinging on in places. She was dangerously underweight with bruises just about everywhere. On closer inspection he could also see the veins painfully raised to the surface of the skin. He could also see where her bones had been broken and left to heal crooked. Her arms and legs looked barely capable of movement as she staggered towards him.

He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. And as she drew her hand back he didn't try to brace himself as she struck him.

She had no expression on her face, there was no sign she could even see him before her kneeling on the floor. With her skeletal limbs and almost mechanical motion she repeated the action. Again and again. Neither making any sound other than the slap of skin against skin, or the thud as his body hit the floor, chains clanking together with the movement.

For Chris the physical violence was nothing. She herself had done worse than this to him by accident. But there may be a chance that she was in there somewhere beneath the surface. He couldn't imagine what had been done to her but he knew there could be something of her left. There had to be. And he was not going to let her down. If there was anything of her left in there he would be right here for her.

_This isn't your fault, it's okay._

He felt the bones in his nose break.

_I know you're there._

Teeth shatter.

_I trust you._

His shoulders dislocate against the concrete.

_I'm right here for you._

His jaw snap.

_I love you._

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><p>Still not entirely certain where I want to go with this story but I do have plenty of ideas. What did you think of this one though?<p> 


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